Among the youthful stories of which Charlotte, as has been already mentioned, wrote a catalogue or list, there was one, of which Mrs. Gaskell has published a fragment in fac-simile, written in a small, elaborate, and cramped hand--so small, indeed, as to be of little use to the general reader. In the 'Life of Charlotte Brontë,' this was inserted as a specimen of the hand-writing. It shows truly the literary ability, dramatic skill, and force of imagination of the children at the period of their lives of which I speak, and affords an interesting specimen of the character of these early works. A few extracts from it may be given here:-- THE SECRET. CHAPTER I. A dead silence had reigned in the Home Office of Verdopolis for three hours in the morning of a fine summer's day, interrupted only by such sounds as the scraping of a pen-knife, the dropping of a ruler, or an occasional cough; or whispered now and then some brief mandate, uttered by the noble first secretary, in his commanding tones. At length that sublime personage, after completing some score or so of despatches, addressing a small slightly-built young gentleman who occupied the chief situation among the clerks, said: 'Mr. Rymer, will you be good enough to tell me what o'clock it is?' 'Certainly, my lord!' was the prompt reply as, springing from his seat, the ready underling, instead of consulting his watch like other people, hastened to the window in order to mark the sun's situation; having made his observation, he answered: ''Tis twelve precisely, my lord.' 'Very well,' said the marquis. 'You may all give up then, and see that all your desks are locked, so that not a scrap of paper is left to litter the office. Mr. Rymer, I shall expect you to take care that my directions are fulfilled.' So saying, he assumed his hat and gloves, and with a stately tread was approaching the vestibule, when a slight bustle and whispering among the clerks arrested his steps. 'What is the matter?' asked he, turning round. 'I hope these are not sounds of contention I hear!' 'I--and--' said a broad, carrotty-locked young man of a most pugnacious aspect, 'but--but--your lordship has forgotten that--that----' 'That what?' asked the marquis, rather impatiently. 'Oh!--merely that this afternoon is a half-holiday--and--and----' 'I understand,' replied his superior, smiling, 'you need not tax your modesty with further explanation, Flanagan; the truth is, I suppose, you want your usual largess, and I'm obliged to you for reminding me--will that do?' he continued, as, opening his pocket-book, he took out a twenty-pound bank bill and laid it on the nearest desk.